


Pieces of a Puzzle

by ronandhermy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:48:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronandhermy/pseuds/ronandhermy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots, drabbles ect. for Fic!February with a focus on Ian and Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fine

_I am fine_ , Ian thought to himself as he lay on his top bunk, listening to his fellow army recruits steadily breathing. Everyone was asleep, even Jack-Off Jackson had finally given his right hand a rest and gone to bed. But not Ian.

 _I am fine_ , he told himself again. Focusing on the words, how they were formed, what they meant and not on the past. The past was done. It could not be changed. But he could change. He could be better, could fix this, him, could make something of himself.

 _I am fine_ , he forced himself to think. He would not sleep that night, he hadn’t really been sleeping at all. But he’d be ready to go in the morning, to be yelled at in the face by the Drill Sargent, to run and shoot and forget everything but muscle, flesh and bone.

 _I’m,_ and unbidden a thought, just the vaguest of truths came into his mind. That he finally had the top bunk, the one Lip had always claimed, and all he’d had to do was leave everyone he’d loved behind to get it. And Ian forced himself to think the lie, _Fine._


	2. Hold My Hand

“Hey Ian,” Debbie asked, as she sat on the edge of the bed her brother lay on. He was quiet, his voice seemed to have gone missing since his time in the army, and he lay in Lip’s bed looking at the wall but not seeing anything. Debbie had given up on trying to get him to eat but she didn’t want to leave him, “Did you even miss us?”

There was no answer but after long moment Ian shifted. His pale freckled hand reached out from underneath the blanket and blindly reached for Debbie’s hand. She let him catch hers.

He held on tight, refusing to let her go. But his actions spoke more than any words he could have found. _Of course_ , he was saying, _of course I missed you._

_But it wasn’t enough,_ Debbie wanted to say. But she was sure her heart might break if she heard the answer. 

_No,_ Ian wanted to tell her, _I wasn’t._

And the silence spoke for them as they sat and tried to repair what fragile pieces of each other they could from the time they had been torn apart.


	3. Hospital Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU (maybe) future fic in which Ian does go on bipolar meds and a friend of his is in the hospital. Possibility of a part two of this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Miss me? As always your reviews are appreciated.

Hospitals shouldn’t be this bright. This sterile. It hurt to look at the walls because the fluorescent light seemed to be absorbed and then reflected back at him. His eyes were at half-mast and he resisted the urge to pull his hat over his eyes and give into the drowsiness. 

“Gallagher,” a familiar voice said, a little to the left of him. “You look like shit.”

Ian just gave a lazy smile in return and finally turned to look at Mickey. As much as the older boy tried to sound cross his expression was worried and full of concern. He used to be so much better at not wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“You holdin’ up?” Mickey asked as he sat down next to Ian in one of those uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs. Designed to make the wait that much worse. “Shit man, you’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Ian insisted, his voice level and tired, “It’s just the meds. If it’s not the shakes, it’s the shits. If it’s not the shits, it’s pissing blood. And so on and so forth until you’d rather be crazy.”

“Don’t fucking talk like that man,” Mickey said and it was clear that line of conversation was closed. Ian leaned his head back against the wall and just went back to waiting.

"It's the truth," Ian says, like it isn't his life. Isn't the chemical in his brain getting messed around with. But Mickey doesn't like to talk about it unless Ian's off his meds. Then it's a whole other issue.

“You know anything yet?” Mickey asked, his voice just a notch off from casual.

“They said he came in with an overdose and alcohol poisoning. Not sure what type of drugs but he was seizing. They pumped his stomach at least. Oh,” Ian remembered, listing off the litany of issues being suffered in the hospital, “and he was raped. So they had to stitch him up.”

“Fuck,” Mickey said, rubbing his hand over his face. He took a deep breath and looked at Ian. Really looked at him. The ginger seemed to be out of it, almost in a numb state, but he was here. At least he was here.

“Ian Gallagher,” an older woman in scrubs called and Ian was on his feet, his hands still shaking.

“That’s me,” Ian replied, moving to stand in front of the much shorter woman who looked like she could use a cup of coffee. Or three.

Mickey stood beside and behind him, his shoulder touching him. 

“It’s says here on Colin’s medical file that you’re his emergency contact, is that correct?” Dr. Fannagan asked, her name tag also reflected the florescent lights. 

“Yeah,” Ian said, not elaborating further.

“Is he your partner?” Dr. Fannagan asked.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Mickey interjected, his arms crossed.

“Because,” Dr. Fannagan said, giving the shorter man a look that could peel paint, “Colin’s preliminary blood tests aren’t looking so good. You might want to get tested, even if the results aren’t confirmed.”

“Wh-what does that mean?” Ian asked, crossing his arms, his voice now colored with worry and concern, “Is he gonna be all right?”

The doctored tried to hold in her sigh but a little one managed to escape as she said, “Mr. Gallagher, your friend will most likely survive what happened to him tonight. But there will be possible life long consequences. I can’t say anything more because you aren’t immediate family. I’m sorry.”

“I am his family,” Ian near yelled before the woman could retreat, “I’m all the family he’s got.”

“Mr. Gallagher, you don’t seem to understand,” Dr. Fannagan began.

“No,” Ian interrupted her, his voice full of repressed anger and pain, “You don’t understand. The people who you think of as family kicked Colin to the streets when he was sixteen because they found him in bed with another boy. They aren’t family. They’re pieces of shit. I’m, I’m family.” Ian took a deep breath through his teeth, his eyes bright, “I’m his family.”

Dr. Fannagan looked conflicted for a moment before seeming to come to some type of internal agreement. “All right,” she said, stepping closer to Ian, “I’m telling this to you because you’re Colin’s _half-brother_. Understand?” she intoned while looking at Ian meaningfully. A quick nod and she began to explain, “Colin has a long road of recovery ahead of him. I’m afraid it’s not something a stomach pump or few stitches can cure. His blood work indicates that he is most likely HIV positive. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Ian said.

“Ian,” Mickey began.

“No,” Ian said to Mickey before turning back to the doctor, “No. No way. He’s always worn a condom since I’ve known him. He was obsessive about that shit. Made sure all the boys down at the club wore ‘em too. Said it didn’t matter how much a guy was offering you always did it with a rubber.”

“Mr. Gallagher,” Dr. Fannagan began, her voice softer than it had been, “You just told me Colin was on the streets since he was 16. Things happen. Unfortunately many runaways turn to prostitution and I’m sure, if he was desperate enough or lonely enough, he might have forgon a condom. Or one could have broken. There are thousands of scenarios. But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is making sure he is alive to face whatever may come.” 

There was a pause and Ian finally gave a small nod. “All right,” the doctor said, rubbing her eyes, “I’ll have someone come and get you when he’s stabilized.”

She left before she could see Ian and Mickey’s nod. 

“This can’t be happening,” Ian said after they’d sat back down again. His head in his hands as he tried to sort through everything from behind the haze of a headache.

“How well do you know this guy anyway?” Mickey asked, watching Ian.

Ian turned his head slightly to look at his boyfriend and said, “How well does anyone know anybody?”

“Yeah, but you were the e.c. That doesn’t just happen,” Mickey replied, glancing at the clock. Six more hours until Ian needed another dose of pills.

Ian sighed and looked at the floor, “He was the only friend I really had when I worked at the White Swallow. The other boys, they’d move in and out of there, barely lasting a week. Not Colin though. He’d been there for over a year. He knew the lay of the land. Who it was safe to go home with, who you wanted to stay away from, who was just lonely. He taught me, looked out for me. When he could. His um,” Ian paused and took a deep breath before glancing at Mickey for a moment before continuing, “his boyfriend died a few months back. Some guys took a pipe to the back of his head. He hasn’t really gotten over it.”

“So you helped him out,” Mickey guessed.

“Yeah, I helped him out when I could. When I wasn’t so,” and Ian twirled his finger around the air of his ear to indicate his level of untreated craziness. 

A brief silence fell and then Ian tried, and failed, to fight back his tears. “Christ, what am I going to tell him?” he asked to the ceiling. 

“The truth,” Mickey said with a kind of brutal honesty that was appreciated in moments of crisis, “You tell him the truth and then he’ll have to figure out how to deal with it.”

“Yeah,” Ian sighed and slumped down, letting himself lean into Mickey, his head dropping down. 

“Hey Mickey,” Ian said softly, his eyes almost closed.

“Hmm,” Mickey replied.

“I’m tired,” came Ian’s voice, and it was worn and stretched tight over frayed nerves.

“No shit,” Mickey half-snorted. Ian didn’t respond and Mickey looked up and down the pale, barren hallways. 

_Fuck it,_ he thought and put his arm around Ian’s shoulders, letting the younger boy’s head rest on his chest. He’d wake him up with that doc came back. She wasn’t so bad, as far as doctors went. Seemed to understand that sometimes family was about more than blood.

Ian’s breathing evened out and turned deep as his body relaxed into Mickey’s side.

It would be all right. Mickey forced himself to think that or else he’d go insane picturing Ian in that Colin kid’s place. So it would be all right. Until it wasn’t.


	4. Hospital Birds 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another part of the Ian's friend in the hospital arc.

“You look like shit,” a raw voice croaked from a well used hospital bed. 

Ian sat up in his bedside chair and leaned in closer to the small, skinny boy who had far too many bruises and said, “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

The boy tried to grin but it turned into a painful grimace, his thin lips snagging a stitch. He was pale under his dusty skin and angry bruises and his dark eyes were glassy. “Fuck you,” the boy managed to get out, “I look hot.”

“Well, I guess if you wanted to go into bondage minority porn there’d always be a place for you,” Ian noted with a small laugh, as he leaned forward in his chair beside the bed. He took in his friend. His friend had always been small but had seemed larger than life as he’d moved in the world, always full of energy and laughter. Bright colors on his clothes and occasionally in his hair. Now, for what felt like the first time, Ian realized how very small Colin was. And how very, very fragile.

“Hey, come on man,” the young boy breathed. For he was just a boy despite what his driver’s license said. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’ll look at you however I want. You’re the one stuck in this place,” Ian noted, pushing his tears down. His throat felt dry and he could taste metal.

“Well, not all of us can have a knight in slightly less than shiny armor to come and save us from the big bad bears,” Colin noted, his eyes now half closed.

“Don’t let Mickey hear you say that,” Ian said with a grin, “He’ll kick your ass.”

“Attack an invalid? Your boyfriend’s got too much pride for that,” Colin noted with a hint of smugness.

Ian just grinned in response, not denying it. 

“So,” Colin said, his voice turning serious as he fixed his eyes on Ian. The bruise surrounding the right eye was swollen so badly he could barely see. “How bad is it?”

“Bad news first or worse news?” Ian asked after taking a shaky breath. 

“Just take it in order,” Colin said, just like he had when Ian had tried to explain why he wasn’t in the army anymore.

“You know how you got here,” Ian half asked. Colin gave a hesitant nod and Ian continued, “You were pretty messed up. They had to pump your stomach which is probably why your throat feels a bit like sandpaper right now. You were sedated and on some drugs to counteract whatever you ODed on and they had you tied down for a time. You had a lot of cuts, a lot of bruises, some anal tearing,” Ian took a deep breath and managed to get out, his voice shaking as he said the words, “And you’re most likely HIV positive.”

There was a brief moment of silence and then Colin’s broken voice managed to say, “Fuck.” He tried to raised his arm to wipe away his tears but his arms hurt too much to move like that. “Fuck.” And the tears began to come in earnest now.

Ian didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything. He just sat there and reached out to hold Colin’s hand. The shorter boy clung with a strength you wouldn’t expect from such a lean boy. It hurt, just a little, but Ian was glad it did. It meant it was real. This wasn’t some dream and he’d awake to find Colin in a coffin. Colin was alive. For now.

“What do I do?” Colin asked, his voice lost and far away.

“I don’t know,” Ian said honestly, unable to avoid his friend’s hopeless gaze. 

Just then Mickey walked into the room with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Ian and then reached into his coat pocket and brought out an apple juice box that he sat beside Colin.

“Does he know?” Colin asked Ian. Ian just nodded his head.

“So Mickey,” Colin asked, his voice hitched without his permission, “What do I do now?”

“This a trick question?” Mickey asked as he took a swig of his coffee. Colin just stared at him until he sighed.

“You get better, that’s what you do. You heal up, get the fuck out of this hospital. You’ll tell me who hurt you and I’ll fuck ‘em up or put ‘em in the ground. You’ll take whatever cocktail of drugs these docs give you. You get up, you live. I don’t care what the fuck you do after that. Dance, sing, fuck all the dudes in a fifty mile radius. Couldn’t give a shit. You’ll live your life like you always have. What else were you gonna do?”

And Colin started laughing before it devolved into a wet sticky cough. He accepted the small sips of water Ian offered him but he now seemed to be fighting laughter instead of despair. “Fuck Mickey,” Colin managed to get out, “Never change.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes.

“When you get out of here,” Ian began but Colin cut him off.

“When I get out of here I’m going home. It may not be much but it’s mine. And no way in hell am I stepping into the South Side,” Colin insisted.

“What’s wrong with where we live?” Mickey asked, defensive as he crushed the empty disposable coffee cup in his hands.

“Oh nothing. If you don’t mind the occasional hate crime,” Colin dryly remarked, turning to Ian and pointedly ignoring Mickey. “Me? I’ll take the drag queens any day.”

“Well you know where to find us,” Ian said with a shrug. He knew better than to force it. If Colin came it would be because he wanted to come, not because somebody made him.

Colin gave a small nod before saying, “So are their any hot murses out there? How about doctors?”

Mickey snorted and Ian said, “Hot? Yes. Gay for your ass? Well, let’s just say don’t quit your day job.” And Ian gave a little shit eating grin at Colin as he got the juice box ready for his injured friend to drink.

“Fuck you, I can get it,” Colin protested with a small laugh. 

“Keep dreaming,” Ian replied with a smile. 

“Yeah,” Colin said, laying fully back down, his eyes still glossy, “got to keep dreaming.”

“You gonna be all right?” Ian asked, his expression and tone turning into one of serious concern.

“Mmm,” Colin replied, leaving the answer up for interpretation. He looked up at ceiling and a few more tears leaked out of his eyes but he didn’t say anything else.

“Get some fucking sleep,” Mickey instructed not unkindly as he gathered his coat around him and gestured for Ian to follow him. Colin gave no response. He didn’t even reply or even seem to notice when Ian said he’d be back soon. 

Once Mickey and Ian left the room they walked down the pale corridor quietly. Mickey didn’t really know the kid but when he’d met him Colin had always seemed a fearless little shit. Always moving from one precarious situation to the next. He just didn’t like the world Colin represented. The world Ian had been immersed in for far too long. It was a world that reminded Ian that he wasn’t all right. That he’d traveled down the rabbit hole and would never be the same again.

Ian was silent until they got outside. He didn’t say anything but he ducked into a dark corner of the parking lot and took a couple of fast shaky breaths. His medication was wearing off and he hadn’t slept since he’d gotten the call six hours ago that Colin had been drugged, beaten and left for dead. He leaned up against the wall and his hands cradled his head as he struggled to breathe.

“Hey, you all right?” Mickey asked, coming to stand in front of the taller boy, “Hey. Hey.” And he reached out to hold onto the younger boy’s shoulders only to find them shaking.

Ian just shook his head and then rested it on Mickey’s shoulder. He tried to ignore the tears that were escaping but he allowed himself to cling to the shorter man who had positioned himself so that people wouldn't see Ian having a minor break down.

“I don’t feel good,” Ian finally said, his voice soft and distant, like he was a small child. The tears hadn’t helped his headache either.

“Okay,” Mickey said, his voice calming as he rubbed Ian’s back. “Okay.” His voice was soft and his hands firm as held his boyfriend together because Ian could not do it himself. And Ian didn’t want to break, didn’t want to be so raw and fragile. He wanted to be iron and steel, bullets and grenades, damage to the touch. But he wasn’t. He was just Ian. A broken boy with broken friends. But at least if he was going to break he could do so in front of someone who would guard him until he was ready to piece himself back together again. 

“Let’s go home,” Mickey said once Ian’s breathing had calmed back down. Ian nodded and straightened himself out, ignoring his red rimmed eyes. Then he walked side by side with Mickey to the closest L station while the sun rose to reveal a new day full of new consequences.

Yet Ian couldn’t help but hope that the sun wouldn’t ever set.


	5. The Youngest Milkovich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A possible future a couple of years down the line.

Ivan Milkovich was quiet as he woke up and got out of bed. At the age of seven he had learned long ago not to make too much noise, not to draw too much attention to himself, or else he might get attention he didn’t want. His uncles would shove him, or give him a smack if he was acting smart, or make him drink beer to shut him up. Dad usually stopped it before it went too far but Dad couldn’t always be there. So Ivan did the smart thing and made himself less of a noticeable target to his large and rough family.

Mom wasn’t so bad. She always made sure he had something to eat, had the right clothes for the right season, and even managed to get him a second hand clarinet to play when he was older. She always said she was a mama bear and he was her cub. He spoke Russian with her even though Dad didn’t like it much. But, as far as Ivan could tell, Dad didn’t like that many things. Heck, he didn’t even like Mom most of the time and they were married.

“ _Zolotse,_ ” his mother said as he entered the kitchen, rubbing the last bit of sleep from his blue eyes. They were his father’s eyes with his mother’s hair and the common sense from who knows where. “Go wake your father.”

Ivan didn’t even bother to argue. His mom was making pancakes and the faster he woke up Dad the faster he could eat. So he scampered down the hall to his father’s room and gave a quick knock before opening the door. 

His dad was awake, staring at the ceiling and slowly smoking a cigarette. Uncle Ian lay next to him, fast asleep, with his arm thrown across Dad’s bare abdomen, his head resting above the dark haired man’s heart. Ivan could see that Dad’s hand, the one attached to the arm wrapped around Uncle Ian, would glide up and down the red headed man’s spine.

“Dad,” Ivan said, his voice pitched to get attention but not to wake. Dad turned his head slightly to stare at Ivan, saying nothing as he took another drag from a half-smoked cigarette. “Mom said to come get you.”

“Hmm,” Mickey said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. It was quiet for a moment then Dad said, “Go and get your Uncle’s pills.”

Ivan nodded and went to drag a three legged stool over to the dresser where three clear orange bottles sat, each half full of pills of various sizes. He carefully opened the childproof caps and took out one pill each before putting the caps back on. He knew that if any of those pills went missing there’d be hell to pay. Dad was always so much more touchy when things came to Uncle Ian. Mom said it was ‘cause Ian was sorta fragile in the head, but Ivan just figured it was ‘cause Uncle Ian was one of the few people his Dad actually liked. A lot. Maybe even loved.

His small hands grabbed the pills before carefully climbing down and handing them to Dad. He got a nod of thanks and then Dad was shaking Uncle Ian awake.

“Fuck,” the red headed man muttered, “What time is it?”

“7:30,” Ivan supplied shyly. Uncle Ian always made him feel shy for some reason. Maybe it was because he could make his Dad smile without even trying. He could also make his Dad angrier than anything, but Ivan could do that too. 

“Fuck,” Uncle Ian muttered again, rubbing his head briefly on Dad’s chest before looking at the small boy and saying, “Thanks little man. I’m taking you to school today?”

Ivan nodded briefly and smiled at Uncle Ian. 

“He can walk to school on his own,” Dad said, but there wasn’t any fight in his words.

Uncle Ian just rolled his eyes and said, “Not with the amount of perverts in this neighborhood he’s not.” And he turned over and dragged himself out of bed, leaving his Dad to look at Uncle Ian in his boxer shorts the way Aunt Mandy looked at her boyfriends. All of which, his Dad was sure to tell him, he hated. 

Once Uncle Ian pulled on a shirt Dad sighed and stubbed his cigarette out and sat up. “Go get your breakfast,” Dad said, his voice gruff but kind. 

Ivan nodded and handed his Dad the pills before rushing back towards the kitchen and the food his mom would have ready. He knew Uncle Ian and Dad would get ready and Dad would be making sure Uncle Ian took his magic pills. When Ivan had been even littler than he was now Uncle Ian used to tell him that those pills gave him super powers. Now Ivan knew those pills helped Uncle Ian be normal. Well, as normal as a person could get in the South Side.

He knew his family wasn’t normal. He also knew not to let on to anyone who wasn’t family about what really went on in this house. Like, he could never tell his friends that his Mom and Dad didn’t share a room. Ivan wasn’t sure if they ever had. And he couldn’t tell people that Uncle Ian shared a room and a bed with Dad. Or that sometimes, when Dad didn’t know he was there, he’d kiss Uncle Ian on the mouth. But his Mom and Dad never ever seemed to touch or kiss or even hug. Not like Uncle Ian and Dad did or Aunt Mandy with her boyfriends. 

But just because the adults in his life were weird doesn’t mean he was going to say anything to anybody. He was always fed, which was more than a lot of his friends could say. He didn’t get hit all that much, and never really that hard. He didn’t have any siblings to steal or break his stuff. Neither his Mom or Dad were in jail, dead, or cracked out of their minds. His Grandpa was in jail and was set to be there for a long time. He’d stabbed some politician’s son or something. Dad didn’t like to talk about it and whenever Grandpa was mentioned Uncle Ian would get a scary sour expression on his face.

So Ivan kept his head down and didn’t talk about his home life with anyone who wasn’t family. He didn’t let his friends spend the night either. Most of their parents probably wouldn’t have let their family spend time over at his place anyway. They looked down on Mom, calling her mean names, and they were scared of Dad, with his tattooed hands and inability to stomach stupidity. Ivan didn’t mind having something that wasn’t known by everyone. Dad always said a man was entitled to his secrets. Of course Mom always rolled her eyes at that and would mutter something in Russian about the only thing secret about Dad was that he wasn’t as a good a secret keeper as he’d like to believe. Then Dad would yell at Mom to speak in English and Uncle Ian would laugh.

Ivan had just finished eating his pancake when Uncle Ian sat at the table. Mom shook her head at him but plopped a plate of egg whites in front of him and some dry toast. Uncle Ian just gave it a look before shrugging and digging into it.

“You still piss blood?” Mom asked as she packed Ivan’s lunch into his Wolverine lunch box.

Uncle Ian swallowed before saying, “Not as much as before. Should be all right with the new dosage.”

“If you pass out I will not carry you,” Mom asserted, brisk and no nonsense as usual, all of her movements calculated to get things done.

“I know,” Uncle Ian said before turning to Ivan. “You’re not going to school dressed like that are you?”

Ivan looked down at his pjs and then ran off down the hall to his room to put on his clothes. He wore a Batman shirt with jeans and Uncle Ian made him take a sweatshirt even though he didn’t need one. Ivan liked walking to school with Uncle Ian. It was like having his own personal gentle giant. Except Ivan had seen Uncle Ian fight, he wasn’t supposed to have seen but he’d been at Kev and V’s to play with the twins and it had happened right outside. It had been vicious and underhand and Ivan almost hadn't recognized his Uncle. 

He’d been scared for awhile, he knew his Dad could beat up punks, and did on a regular basis, but Uncle Ian always seemed to hold in his violence better than anyone else. But Uncle Ian had pulled him aside once he realized Ivan was being extra jumpy and explained that sometimes words failed and fists were necessary. 

He threw on his backpack and turned back to see Uncle Ian and Dad talking, standing close together. His Dad still didn’t have a shirt on and Uncle Ian has that half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Uncle Ian,” Ivan called with a whine. He could get away with whining to the red headed man where he couldn’t with Mom and Dad. 

Uncle Ian gave one last smile to Dad before heading over to Ivan. Once they were outside, the door firmly shut behind them, Uncle Ian held out his hand. Ivan shyly slipped his small hand into the much taller man’s. Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead holding someone’s hand but Uncle Ian was different. He didn’t make him feel like a baby when he did it. And Ivan would never admit it to anyone but it made him feel safe and important. Uncle Ian didn’t feel like a wimp for holding Ivan’s hand and walking him to school, so why should Ivan. 

“Uncle Ian,” Ivan asked, carefully jumping over the cracks in the side walk. He knew the whole stepping on a crack would break your mother’s back thing was nonsense but it didn’t hurt to be careful. Uncle Ian gave a noise to indicate he was listening. “Can I stay over at Kev and V’s this Friday?”

“Did you ask them if it was all right?” Uncle Ian asked back, always knowing it was better to ascertain if permission could actually be given for an actual event then just a hypothetical situation.

“Yeah, the twins invited me,” Ivan said with a smile. The twins and him were thick as thieves and it showed in the classroom and the playground. 

“Well I don’t see why not,” Uncle Ian replied, “I’ll let your Dad know.” 

And Ivan’s grin grew wider because if Uncle Ian said it was all right it almost always was. Mom wouldn’t mind having the Friday to herself, and Dad didn’t mind him hanging out with friends. He always said Ivan knew the way home if he wanted to ditch the twins. Not that he ever would but it was Dad’s way of saying he could always come home and be welcomed.

As they got closer to the school Ivan reluctantly slid his hand from Uncle Ian’s and gave the older man a melancholic, and yet fierce, expression. Just because he didn’t think holding hands with Uncle Ian was bad, didn’t mean the other kids thought the same. And in the mob mentality of adolescents any hint of being outside the norm was an invite to be beaten, ridiculed, or excluded. 

Uncle Ian didn’t say anything, just gave him a smile and ruffled his dark hair before giving the young boy a nudge towards the brick building. Ivan nodded his goodbye and turned to go. He knew Uncle Ian would stay and make sure he actually got into the building before heading back. Because, just like Ivan, Ian knew the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian endearment used means "my gold"


End file.
